


Skin

by Callisto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sam’s back and shoulders are certainly not the most beautiful Dean has ever seen. That honor would probably go to Cassie.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin

Sam’s back and shoulders are certainly not the most beautiful Dean has ever seen. That honor would probably go to Cassie. He remembers her in the moonlight, lying on her stomach with her hair tickling him awake as it spilled onto his pillow. He remembers opening his eyes, turning, and smoothing his hands over the most flawless skin ever, his breath catching if he could make her smile in her sleep.

His fingertips, and not his breath catch now. Sam is lying on his left side, facing away, and at the moment his fingertips are catching on a bump of skin just below Sam’s right shoulder blade. The result of a black dog outside Tennessee, if Dean remembers correctly. A whole front tooth actually went in and _stayed_ in. Which had been beyond gross, and which had involved a great deal of cursing, whiskey, and lame dentist jokes when the time came to remove it. He moves his fingers on and finds a thin ridge from the swipe of a witch’s claw. That had bled like a bitch, too, but had ended up thankfully needing more holy water than stitches.

Dean’s fingertips continue, brushing over warm skin to the curve of Sam’s ribs, and to a groove Dean doesn’t know. He’s pretty sure it’s from Sam’s time with Ruby. Since that doesn’t matter nearly as much as it used to, he never asks. Just glides his fingers along the scar’s flat dip sometimes, when Sam is asleep like this. Down, down... A little further and Dean hesitates. There it is, the ragged line at the base of Sam’s spine; the one Dean knows all too well from the blood and mud of Cold Oak. The one Dean’s palm often rests on for a long minute.

Sam’s shoulders move, shrugging the muscles under the flat of Dean's hand.

“Tickles,” comes the sleepy voice.

Dean pulls away. “Sorry.”

“’S nice.”

Sam reaches back, finds Dean’s wrist, and pulls Dean’s hand around his body. Then he lifts it to his mouth and gives Dean’s fingers a series of ridiculous, drowsy kisses. And since this is sleep-muzzy Sam, he doesn’t let Dean’s hand go when he’s done. Instead, he simply tucks it into his own and resettles, sighing something contented and indecipherable as he holds it close to his chest.

If anyone were awake to see it, Dean would roll his eyes. Sam does the sappiest shit when he’s half-asleep. Dean tries to raise up and peer over Sam’s shoulder, but the angle means he’s either going to have to go with the flow, or yank his hand back and wake Sam up completely. And the morning bitch-face just does not make that a desirable course of action. Not if he wants his morning coffee with sugar instead of salt.

Dean has little choice but to man up and take one for the team.

Decision made, he inches forward until he’s spooned up behind his brother, crooking his knees behind those long legs just so. Sam rubs back into him and Dean scratches Sam’s chest lightly where his fingers are still being held. The angle is perfect now, so he noses a few tickling hair strands aside and presses his lips to the back of Sam’s neck. There are no scars under his mouth, and even if there were, Dean would still do this.

Just before he drifts off, it occurs to Dean that his brother is not the only one who gets away with the sappiest shit when Sam is half-asleep.

******


End file.
